“But why not?” said Juliet.  “They are very kind to me.  I am very happy here.”

“Oh, nonsense!” said the squire.  “You couldn’t do that.  I believe you’re afraid I want to make a slave of you.”

“No, I am not afraid of that,” said Juliet.  “But go on, if you don’t mind!  What happens after ten o’clock?”

“Well, she opens her letters,” said the squire.  “Tells you what wants answering and how to answer it.  P’raps you read the papers to her for a bit before she gets up, and so on.”

“Does that take the whole morning?” asked Juliet.

“No.  She’s down about twelve.  Sometimes she goes for a ride then, if she feels like it.  Or she walks about the grounds, or drives out in the dog-cart.  She’s very keen on horses.  Then either she goes out to lunch or someone lunches with us.  And after that she’s off in the car for a fifty-mile run—­or a hundred if the mood takes her.  She’s never quiet—­except when she’s in bed.  That’s what I want you for.  I want you to keep her quiet.”

“Oh!” said Juliet.

This was shedding a new light upon the matter.  She looked at him somewhat dubiously.

“Come!  I know you can,” he said.  “You’ve been through the treadmill.  You know all about it and it doesn’t attract you.  This infernal chase after excitement—­it’s like a spreading fever.  There’s no peace for anyone now-a-days.  I want you to stop it.  You’ve got that sort of influence.  I sensed it directly I saw you.  You’ve got that priceless possession—­a quiet spirit.  She wouldn’t go tearing over the country racing and gambling and then card-playing far into the night if you were there to pull her up.  She’d be ashamed—­with anyone like you looking on.”

“Would she?” said Juliet.  “I wonder.  And how do you know that that sort of thing doesn’t attract me?”

“Of course I know it.  You carry it in your face.  You’re a woman—­not a dancing marionette.  You wouldn’t despise a woman’s duties because they interfered with pleasure.  You were made in a different mould.  Anyone can see that.”

Juliet was smiling a little.  “I can’t claim to be anything very great,” she said.  “But certainly, I was never very fond of cards.”

“Of course you weren’t.  You’ve too much sense to do anything to excess.  Now look here, Miss Moore!  You’re coming, aren’t you?  You’ll give the thing a trial.  I promise you, you shan’t be bullied or overworked.  It’s such an opportunity, for my wife really has taken a fancy to you.  And she can be quite decent to anyone when she likes.  You can bring the dog along,” continued the squire.  “You can have your own sitting-room—­your own maid, if you want one.  You can come and go as you choose.  No one will interfere with you.  All I want you to do is to put the brake on my wife, make her take an interest in her home, make her take life seriously.  She’s not at all strong.  She doesn’t give herself a chance.  Unless I fetch in a doctor and practically keep her in bed